The rising virtues chill'd in shades of death.


XII.

Cease, cease ye throbs of hopeless woe;
He lives the future hours to bless,
He lives, the purest joy to know,
Parental transports fond excess;
His sight a father's eye shall chear,
A sister's drooping charms endear:--
The private pang was Albion's gen'rous care,
For him she breath'd a warm accepted prayer.


XIII.

And lo! a radiant stream of light
Defending, gilds the murky cloud,
Where Desolation's gloomy night
Retiring, folds her sable shroud;
It flashes o'er the bright'ning deep,
It softens Britain's frowning steep--
'Tis mild benignant Peace, enchanting form!
That gilds the black abyss, that lulls the storm.


XIV.

So thro' the dark, impending sky,